Triage and Pre Op – deciding who deserves the treatment first based on how many scar they’ll have…this is one time where having the most, means you’re first in line. 4 doctors…sometimes less…deciding between themselves who goes first – who has the most chance of survival…they all have a chance…but unlike popular thought…we’re not gods…we have 4 sets of hands between us and never enough time to save every single person who comes into camp.
Surgery…it was always bad. Men…no KIDS bleeding to death whilst you’re trying to save their buddies who are just that little bit worse. Then when you finally get to them – if they’re not already dead – they either die or have some limb amputated. Then on that off chance a miracle is performed…there they go, sent straight back to the front lines to see if they’re a second, third, forth time lucky. Cats have nine lives right? Not in a war.
But no matter how bad Surgery is – the stench of blood and death – Post Op is always worse. Now you are no longer just their doctor…you’re their counsellor, father, friend, confidant, the guy whose shoulder they cry on, the one who listens to their tales of horror, and each time you hear one…you hate the war that one bit more.
But do you give up? Even if you could…you wouldn’t. You realise someone has to do the job…yet you know there shouldn’t be a job to do in the first place. These two conflicting emotions angrily clashing with each other so much that you don’t know what to do. It’s that little voice inside your head…or a friend who helps you make the right choice. The right choice…But after a while that has to get to you…seeing all that blood and death and not telling anyone about it because they too are feeling the same emotions, you don’t want to feel a burden on people so you keep it to yourself.
You’re tired…everyone’s tired. No matter how many days without wounded, you still can’t get enough sleep. You would kill to be in a coma for a month just to sleep. Yet the nightmares of what you’ve seen…and heard become all so real and horrifying that you wake up in a sweat of panic. Checking yourself over for blood and bullet holes you discover that you’re fine…physically…and burst into tears for the kid you lost today.
You know that violence never solves anything…if it did, then why is this the third major war in the past 40 years? Yet you feel the urge to hit someone…belt them, punch them, BLAME them for all the pain and anger you feel day after day. For the sleep you have lost, for your lunch, your happiness, your sanity.
But these times when a violent streak comes over you, there they are. Your friends are there to help you, pushing their problems aside for the moment to comfort you, as you will and have done for them time after time. They are the ones who rescue you from yourself – with or without a little liquid aid – and bring you back to the job that’s ahead of you…just surviving day after day in the hope that you will see your family again. These people you have met in the worst possible situation of your life become your best and closest friends a person could ever have…they are the ones to remind you that violence doesn’t solve a thing and you forget about throttling anything until you reach your breaking point next time. They achieve this…most of the time.
But sometimes things don’t work out quite that way.
Hawkeye tossed in his cot, trying to sleep. He’d just come off night duty and was looking forward to the few hours of sleep he could usually squeeze in. But today it wasn’t gonna happen. ‘Maybe a martini would help?’ but after remembering they’d drunk the still dry the previous day he decided not to.
The noise of people around him was becoming louder and louder by the second…the walls of the tent were closing in on him and he was finding it hard to breathe. He needed to get out of there…he needed to do something…something which he had never done before…thought about sure…but there as always were his friends – BJ, Potter, Charles, Klinger, Radar, Mulcahy…and Margaret – telling him that things were gonna be okay and had put a stop to it. Not this time though. Hawkeye had more than reached his breaking point and if he didn’t vent soon…he’d lose it completely.
He stormed out of the tent in a rage that turned his once sea blue eyes a dark, eerie, look of pure hatred and anger. The camp was use to peoples general cry out for ‘help!’ and fixed it by getting hammered at the many places that served alcohol. As he stormed on in an aimless wander, the people around him went on with their work as usual.
He knew there were other people who were as angry as he. Two people. The only two people who felt the same anger as he did. The two people who hated the war the same way he did. It was strange how those two people and him were so different, yet all showed the same emotion as the others. Margaret and Klinger. The only two he could relate with.
He found the first in a mood worse than his own – as she normally was. His angry eyes locked with hers – normally ice blue but now a deep, dark shade of green. She was also storming the compound, yet unlike him would let her anger get the better of her – but with very minor consequences. Neither saying a word yet both knowing what the other thought. They were best friends after all. Both felt the same anger, the same hatred, the same sadness as the other.
His gaze then met that of the other kindred spirit. In an angry mood to match that of his own. His eyes were almost black with rage. The normally calm man was now letting his rage take the better of him. Neither said a word. Both knew the problem and the immediate answer.
None of them had planned to take on what they did next. Neither Hawkeye, Margaret nor Klinger vocally joined in an agreement of what they were about to do. The three of them walked towards the centre of the compound, not knowing why or have planned it.
“I hate this damn bastard place.”
“I’m SO SICK OF IT!”
“I swear if I don’t get some time off I’ll REALLY go nuts.”
The three were in a rage, knowing that the others were just as bad, but not listening and continued on with their own ranting.
Hawkeye stormed off towards an empty jeep, leaving the other two standing there, looking at each other, at him and all around them. He rummaged through the back of the jeep now knowing exactly what he had to do. Finding what he was looking for he walked around to the front of the jeep. Rearing the object – a crowbar behind him, he let loose and slammed it into a headlight of the jeep…glass shattering, flying everywhere.
A few people started to look up and out of where they had been, but accidents were a common occurrence and thought none the less of it.
Hawkeye swung the metal pole back again, and thrust it forward once more smashing the second headlight, shattering in such a spectacular way as the first.
More people started to look towards where the sounds were coming from.
Margaret had walked up to the jeep, pulling out another metal object and marched her way to where Hawkeye was. In the same fashion as he did, she pulled the metal object back and belted the hood of the jeep, repeatedly, over and over again. Both stopped for a minute and look at each other with the same lost look and continued to beat the living hell out of the vehicle. Neither noticing Klinger with a baseball bat smashing up the rear.
By now almost the whole camp had come out to see what was happening. A fight? When they saw what was happening many were shocked. Mainly at straight-laced Major Margaret Houlihan who had now jumped on top of the jeep and was repeatedly belting the living daylights out of it.
None of the trio had said anything. All were in such a state of pure rage that the world was gone and the task ahead was to break up the only thing not in place – that damn jeep.
By now Potter, BJ and the rest of the gang had been informed and were out to try and stop it.
“PIERCE, HOULIHAN, KILNGER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” Potter was more shocked than angry. “Hawkeye STOP!” BJ was yelling at him.
No one let up. By now Hawkeye and Klinger had joined Margaret in beating the hood. Jumping up and down on it, trying to squish it into the ground, just hoping it would go away.
More people were yelling at them, trying to get them to stop. No one cared about the jeep, they didn’t want their friends hurt.
“I hate THIS GODDAM FUCKING WAR!” Hawkeye screamed in a voice no one had heard before. “I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT!” Margaret continually screamed and yelled so angry, so determined. “I WANT MY LIFE BACK!” Klinger yelled. As if rehearsed before, all three aimed swung their weapons at the windshield.
“GET BACK!” Potter yelled at the three let loose and fly. Hitting the glass with such a force that glass literally flied in every direction. People ducked to avoid the glistening sparks that were making their way through the air.
The three were covered in glass but didn’t seem to care. All were continually beating into the now dead jeep. With their combined strength and weaponry, the jeep was looking well past it use-by date.
“This is for the wounded!” Hawkeye smashed into the jeep harder than before.
“This is for their families!” Margaret too laid into the near-dead jeep.
“And THIS is for people!” Klinger had moved again and was belting into the back of the jeep.
The crowd kept back, none of them had been hurt and none of them wanted to be. BJ, Potter and Radar moved closer to the three, in a hope to calm them down. Deep inside they blamed themselves for letting it get this bad.
“Hawk…Hawkeye?” BJ was trying to coax him out of it, but Hawkeye was too far into the job.
“Major…Margaret?” Potter was trying to talk to her in a calm, gentle voice. But she was determined.
“Hey Klinger?” Radar was most nervous…he didn’t want to lose his friend…any of his friends.
“Padre could you move these people out of here?” “Yes Colonel.”
None of the assulters had heard nor taken notice of the cries to stop.
BJ and Radar, who were already panicked, were at the Colonel asking him what to do…how to stop them. Potter himself was panicking…the only way to stop them was by force…the LAST thing he ever wanted to do to his people.
“Uh Colonel, BJ?” “Yeah Padre” “We got word that wounded are arriving anytime.” “RADAR!” “I’m on it sir!” “HAWKEYE!” “Hunnicutt…GET BACK! Do you want a face full of metal?” “Hawk wouldn’t…” “Pierce is in NO stable state to bargain with. NONE of them are!” “ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL…INCOMING WOUNDED.”
The three looked up from their assault on the defenceless now severely damaged excuse for a jeep. Klinger through years of practice immediately jumped into action.
Hawkeye and Margaret just stopped dead on the spot…looking at each other with a complete sense of loss, sadness and near depression. They had frozen…not knowing what to do next. Neither had acted this whacked before and the shock of reality had hit hard. Margaret broke down sobbing…she was still extremely angry and now tired out from her beating. Hawkeye took her in his arms and he too shed a tear.
“Let’s go Hunnicutt…they’re no use to us in this state.” “Hawkeye?” He looked up at BJ with such sadness it would break your heart. “Wounded…we gotta work.” Margaret too looked up at them. Both nodded silently, making known what they had to do. The four of them ran towards Pre Op and ready to scrub. No one uttered a word during the whole session other than the occasional request for an instrument.
After the 8-hour session; Hawkeye, Margaret and Klinger went their separate ways – straight to bed. All three slept soundly for the next 12 hours. Their fight against the war had been fought…and won.
The following day at lunch, no one spoke to them. Potter made it an order not to mention the events of the previous day. The three sat down together at the one empty table with just a cup of coffee.
After several minutes of silence the three spoke up, all saying the same thing.
“Can I talk to you two about something?”
